


Afterimage

by Anonymous



Category: Quantum Leap
Genre: Early Work, Fix-It, Gen, Post-Canon Fix-It
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-25
Updated: 2015-12-25
Packaged: 2018-05-06 03:13:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5400899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam leaps into Al's youngest daughter, in an effort to change the design for Project Quantum Leap.  Set immediately after <em>Mirror Image</em>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

All he could see was bronze carpet. Before Sam had a chance to think about why he might be looking down at the floor from a height of two feet, someone slapped him. With a start, Sam realized he was being spanked. He twisted around, trying to see whose lap he was occupying, but the man held him too firmly. His captor was definitely male; Sam could see his shoes. Was the man his father?

Another swat. What was he supposed to do? Yell, cry, promise not to do it again? And what— _slap_ —was the “it” he was being punished for?

Perhaps he should say something. “Dad...” he began tentatively, but the man interrupted.

“What do you think you were doing out there? You could have been killed.” The voice sounded upset, but not cruel. The man relaxed his grip and set Sam on his feet. Sam stared at him in numb silence.

“Stay in your room.”

“Yes, sir,” Sam mumbled, but his “father” was already closing the bedroom door. “Oh, boy.” He knew the man's name.

Al Calavicci.

 

 

Sam looked down at his clothes: white blouse, plaid skirt, navy socks, and once-white tennis shoes. He cast a brief glance upward. “Couldn't you get somebody else to be the girls?”

 He found a mirror and studied his reflection. A little girl with wavy light brown hair and enormous dark eyes looked back at him. Could he really be Al's daughter? There was something around the eyes that looked familiar... Sam's brows furrowed in concentration, then he laughed because the thoughtful frown was so reminiscent of Al. He turned as the Imaging Chamber door opened behind him.

“Sam.” Al looked at him without meeting his eyes. “It's Friday, April 22, 1988. You're four years old.” Al paused and gave Sam another furtive glance before concluding, “And your name is Maxine.”

“Calavicci.”

Al relaxed slightly, looking surprised. “Yeah. You remember my girls?”

_Your girls_ , Sam thought. _You don't have any girls. Or didn_ _'_ _t. What have I done?_ “No, Al, I don't remember them.”

“Then how...?”

“You... he... was in here five minutes ago, walloping me for something.” Sam, who had been rubbing his bottom absentmindedly, suddenly realized that the surface underneath the thin skirt was rumpled. He lifted the back of the skirt to confirm his suspicions, then dropped it in disgust. “Oh geez, Al, I've got _ruffles_ on my underwear. Why do girls have to wear panties?”

“Well, it wasn't my idea.”

Sam glared. “Just tell me why I'm here.”

Al punched some buttons on the handlink. “Well...”

“And what Maxine was being punished for.”

“What difference does that make?”

“I'd like to find out what she did before Daddy dearest busts my tail for doing it again.”

“Oh. Well, Ziggy doesn't know why you're here. Personally, I think you're here to give me... him...”

“Admiral Calavicci.”

“Right, and Beth a break. Maxine was a real handful. Worse than the other three put together.” Al thought about some of Maxine's escapades and didn't notice the small smile blossoming on Sam's face.

_So he's still married to Beth. And he has four children. “_ All girls?”

“What? Yes, all my kids are girls. Maxine's the baby. You really don't remember, do you?”

“No.” _Four girls! Well, if anyone knows how to handle women..._ “Do you know what Maxine did?”

“Yeah. She's not allowed to play in the front yard by herself—it's a busy street—so Beth sent her out to play in the back. Maxine didn't like that, so she climbed the fence. When I came home, she was trying to skate on Ruthie's rollerskates in the middle of the street.”

“In the street?!”

Al nodded. “That's pretty typical for Maxine. Not that she usually plays in the street. Actually, she almost never does the same thing twice, but the kid's got a lot of imagination.”

The door opened and a young girl with dark hair entered. “Dad says you can come down now. Time for supper.”

Al said “Theresa” softly, with a sadness in his voice that made Sam give him a quick, worried look. The girl, misunderstanding, took Sam's hand.

“It's okay, they're not mad anymore. But you shouldn't go out in the street; it's dangerous.” She started to lead Sam downstairs, but he pulled away gently.

“I'll be there in a minute. I, uh, have to go.” Sam waited for Theresa to leave before turning back to Al.

“Wrong way, Sam. It's the second door on the left.”

Sam stared at Al steadily, then asked, “What's wrong? What happened to her?”

“Theresa? Nothing, Sam.” Al shrugged, then added wistfully, “She grew up.”

“But you look so...”

“I'm not used to this,” Al said defensively as he gestured with a cigar. “Seeing them again, so... young. Just forget it. Go on. I'll meet you there and fill you in on who's who.” He punched the handlink and disappeared before Sam had a chance to say anything else.

Al was waiting in the dining room when Sam came down to meet “his” family.

“You've already seen Theresa. She's, uh, twelve; she's the oldest. That's Ruthie, she's almost ten, and the other one is Sharon, she's seven. Watch out for Sharon, she's a tattletale. And you probably recognize Beth and that yutz at the end of the table. No, Sam, you sit on the right, next to Sharon.”

Sam took a seat, feeling slightly unreal. _I wanted to go home. Instead, I ended up with a family of strangers—and my best friend. Would it have been any easier if I'd come home to my own family? Do I still have a place there? Maybe Al's the only family I have now. I don't think I can get used to calling him Dad..._

“Sam.” He looked up as Al's voice broke into his thoughts. “You okay?” Sam nodded. “Then eat something. Theresa's staring at you.”

“How was school today?” Admiral Calavicci said.

Sam panicked, until he realized the Admiral had asked the question of no one in particular. _I'll have to ask Al whether or not Maxine goes to_ _pre_ _school. And if she can read yet._

“Ruthie got in a fight today,” said Sharon. Theresa gave her a venomous glance, but Sharon ignored her. “She beat up Michael Pendergast.”

“Is that true, Ruthie?” asked Beth.

“Yes,” said Ruthie. Her voice became defiant as she added, “Nobody spits on my dress.”

“Michael Pendergast is a nozzle,” said Theresa. “He thinks that he can do anything he wants just because his dad is the principal.”

“You shouldn't call him a nozzle,” said Admiral Calavicci.

“Why not?” countered Ruthie. “He is one.”

Theresa said, “And so's Mr. Pendergast.”

“Girls...”

_So they team up against him. Tom and I used to do this to Dad._ “You said so, Daddy.”

“Sam! What are you doing? Stay out of this!” said Al, but Sam gave him a wide grin and went back to his game of Dad-baiting.

“You called Mr. Pendergast a nozzle.” Sam heard the handlink squawk and looked at Al questioningly.

“I've got to go, Sam. It's nothing. Well, it is something, but not anything you have to worry about. I'll be back soon. And don't push his buttons.” Al stepped through the Imaging Chamber door and disappeared.

 

Al found Dr. Beeks waiting for him in the Control Room. “Al, we need to talk about your daughter.”

“What's wrong with Maxine? I want to see her, Beeks. I don't care if... “

“I agree.” Al stopped in mid-argument, looking surprised. “I know I didn't want you to see her at first. She's going to be very confused if she notices you look older. But we've got a bigger problem right now. She thinks being here is some sort of punishment. I've told her that isn't the case, but she's convinced that her parents have abandoned her for misbehaving.”

“Oh, God... I could never do that...”

Al entered the Waiting Room and saw Maxine huddled miserably in a corner. She stared at him for one incredulous moment before running to him, nearly knocking him down as she threw her arms around him. He sat and pulled her into his lap. _Boy, it's a good thing the brass aren't visiting today. If they saw Sam sitting in my lap crying his eyes out, they'd yank our funding in a second._

“Easy, baby, easy. It's all right.” He smoothed her hair while she sobbed and said something incoherent about rollerskates.

“No, sweetheart, this hasn't got anything to do with Ruthie's skates. I'm not mad at you.”

“I want to go home!”

“We can't go home, not right now. Listen to me, Maxine—are you listening?” She gave him a tearful nod and he continued. “You aren't being punished for anything, do you understand that? Your mother and I love you very much and we'd never send you away, never. No matter what.”

“Then why can't I go home?”

“Well... this is a secret place, where Daddy works.”

“With Uncle Sam?”

“That's right, with Uncle Sam. And the work we do is secret, so most people can't come here. And now you're here, and you're not supposed to be.”

“I didn't do it on purpose, Daddy! I don't remember coming here.”

“Sweetheart, I know that; it was an accident. Nobody's mad at you for being here. It's just that now you're here, you'll have to stay for a few days.”

“Can Mommy come here? Or Theresa?”

“No, Maxine, they can't be here, but I'll be here. And Dr. Beeks will be here; she's a very nice lady.”

“You'll stay with me?”

“Yes, baby. I'll have to visit Uncle Sam now and then, but I'll stay with you.”

He held her for a long time, wondering whether the indefinable sadness he felt was for the child cradled in his arms or the friend he had been unable to touch for years.

 

* * *

 

“We're closed.”

Sam looked around Al's Place before turning back to the bartender. “I can see that, sir. I need some information.”

“What kind of information?”

“You said the leaps were going to get harder. How?”

“Well, so far you've only leaped into your past,” said the bartender. He began stacking chairs.

“Of course I've only... Wait a minute. You're going to leap me into my future? How will I know what to do?”

“That's something you'll need to work on.” He handed Sam a mop. “Here. You're the clean-up crew.”

 

Sam woke with a shuddering breath. He sat up in the darkness, rubbing his face, and was startled to discover Al standing patiently beside his bed. “Al! Don't _do_ that.”

“Do what? I'm just standing here.”

“Don't watch me while I'm sleeping. It's creepy. Aren't you ever going to run out of ways to sneak up on me?”

“I wasn't watching you,” Al replied with exaggerated patience. “Ziggy said you were about to wake up.”

“Al, I know why I'm here.”

“You do? You're way ahead of me, kid. We're still working on where you've been.”

“What?”

“Ziggy's picked up some irregularities. She says it looks like you leaped a couple of times before you came here.”

“That's not important. I know why I'm here.”

“Okay, I'll bite. Why are you here?”

“To change the Project. I just had this dream where I was back at Al's Place, and...”

“Whoa, whoa. Back up. You want to change the Project? That's a no-no, Sam. A big one.”

“I know that, Al; I made the rules. But we have to change the design or I won't know what I'm doing when I leap into the future.”

“The future?! No, Sam. No. You aren't supposed to leap into the future. Home is as 'future' as you need to get.”

“Al... _He_ said I'm going to leap into the future. We can either change the design while I'm here or we can fumble around in the future trying to guess what I'm supposed to be fixing. Which would you rather do?”

“Changing the design is crazy, Sam. It's... it's... rollerskating in the street. If we make the wrong changes, we could wipe out the whole Project. You'll be stuck here. Forever. And I've got a little girl back in the Waiting Room who wants to go home.”

“I know it sounds kind of risky, but it's really not that complicated. I thought about it while I was mopping the floor, and with a few modifications to Ziggy, we could...”

“Stop. Just stop. Geez, Sam, would you listen to yourself? You want to redesign the Project because you had some dream where you were mopping the floor and talking to God? Am I the only person in this room who thinks that's a little weird?”

“It wasn't a real dream.”

“Is there some other kind?”

“It wasn't a made-up dream. It was a memory resurfacing.”

“Sam...”

“It was real, Al. Look, Ziggy thinks I leaped twice before I came here, right? Maybe I leaped... somewhere, and then I leaped back to Al's Place before I came here. And I Swiss-cheesed on my second visit to Al's Place until now.”

“Suppose you're right. Suppose you're here to redesign the Project. Why are you Maxine? Why didn't you leap into yourself?”

“I don't know, Al. Maybe for the same reason I didn't leap into you. Maxine.”

“Maxine?”

“She's only four. Little kids can see the real me. If I'd leapt into you...”

“She would have seen Uncle Sam instead of Daddy. And she would have been able to see me, too.”

“But since I _am_ Maxine, we don't have that problem. All I have to do is write the notes for the new design and sneak them into Daddy's briefcase. He—Admiral Calavicci—will think the other Sam gave him the notes to review.”

“Yeah, but as soon as the other Sam sees the notes, he'll know he didn't write them.”

“But the calculations will be in my handwriting. He'll have to accept the papers as genuine. You see, Al, it's really very simple.”

“Aw, Sam, I hate 'simple' leaps.”

“Just let me sketch the changes for you. Is there any paper in here? And something to write with.”

“No, we'll have to go downstairs. Maxine could _not_ be trusted with writing implements at this age. Say, Sam... speaking of bad little girls... as long as we're changing Ziggy, could we do something about her ego?”

 


	2. Chapter 2

“What do you want to wear today?” asked Beth the following morning, as she opened a dresser drawer in Maxine's room.

“Shorts,” pleaded Sam, looking heavenward.

“Okay, and your Smurf shirt?”

“Smurf?”

Beth laid some clothing on the bed next to Sam and started to pull off his nightie. Sam squirmed.

“No, Mommy, I can dress myself. Honest.”

“What happened to my little girl?” said Beth. She kissed Sam's forehead and left the room.

“You'd be surprised.” Sam closed the door and began dressing.

Al, still wearing pajamas and robe, appeared behind him. “Hey, Sam, stand up.”

“What?” said Sam, as he rose and turned to face Al. “I thought you'd be sleeping in, after last night. Wish I could.”

“No ruffles, that's a shame. Pink's good, though.”

“Could we not discuss my underwear?” Sam said irritably, as he jammed his legs into a pair of blue shorts. He reached for the Smurf T-shirt, noticing the design on the front for the first time. “Oh, this is disgusting.” He held up the shirt for Al to see. “Do you dress her like this to punish her?”

“Nah, she likes that stuff.”

“Must get her taste in clothes from you.”

“Ha, ha. Listen, Ziggy's been doing some number-crunching and she thinks you're right about having gone somewhere and then leaped back to Al's Place before coming here. We're still trying to figure out that first leap.”

“Don't.” Al raised an eyebrow and Sam realized he had spoken too vehemently. He tried to sound casual as he said, “Well, it's probably nothing, you know. Maybe I got leaped into the future and back out again because I wouldn't have known what to do there.”

“Yeah,” said Al, but his voice lacked conviction. “Anyway, Ziggy's taking a look at the stuff we wrote up last night.”

“How did she react?”

“Well, she seemed a little upset about the idea of people leaping back from the future to shove stuff into her database. I think she was afraid they'd take the information away when we didn't need it anymore; you know Ziggy never likes to wipe anything. I told her she could keep the files as long as she only told us what was in them on a need-to-know basis. She liked that idea. A lot.”

“That's fine.”

“Sam, we've got to do something about her personality.”

“What's wrong with her personality? I like Ziggy.”

“So do I, but when she gets into one of her little snits, she can be a real pain in the butt. If you're really going to leap into the future...”

“Al, it's going to happen.”

“When it does happen, I don't want Ziggy running us through a game of 'Mother, May I?' before we can get our hands on the information we need.”

Sam nodded. “I'll think about it.”

“Good. I'm going back to bed. We can work on the design changes again tonight.”

“And when am I supposed to sleep?”

“Have a nice day, Maxine.”

 

_I'd forgotten how beautiful it is here_ , thought Sam, as he hiked along a trail with the Calavicci family. _Al used to drag me out here when he thought I'd been working too hard. I always resented it until we actually got here. Out here, there's nothing but the desert and the sky, and they seem to go on forever. It always made all the problems with the Project seem smaller and less urgent. I guess that's why he did it. Funny, for a man who doesn't like to talk about his feelings, he always seems to be aware of mine._

“Theresa, don't get too far ahead,” called out Admiral Calavicci, as he strolled beside his wife. He noticed that one of Maxine's shoelaces was untied. He was going over to take care of it when Sam knelt and retied the lace.

At first the Admiral thought, _Wow, Maxine can tie her shoes._ Then he realized that she'd done it with a smooth, practiced motion, not the slow, fumbling attempts of a beginner. _That isn't possible. That isn't..._

“I told Donna to bring Sam over for dinner tomorrow,” said Beth. “That is, if she can drag him away... Maxine?” She hurried forward, to where Sam had just fallen.

“Her foot must have slipped on a rock,” said the Admiral.

“It's just a scraped knee. You'll be okay, honey,” Beth said, as she hugged Sam close to her.

Sam, still stunned, spoke one muffled word. “Donna.”

 

The rest of the outing passed in a blur. People spoke to Sam, but his responses were distant and perfunctory. As soon as the Calaviccis returned home, Sam went upstairs to Maxine's room and shut the door. He lay down and allowed himself to think the thoughts he'd been desperately suppressing for hours.

_I have a wife. A wife I love. A wife I've spent less than one day with in the last five years. And I haven't even missed her. I haven't remembered her._

Hot tears stung his eyes. _She asked me not to leave her. She begged me to stay. I went anyway. And she knew I'd leave. She knew, and she understood. I don't want her understanding. I want_ _her_ _._

Al's hologram appeared. “Sam, Ziggy's been looking at that first leap, and...”

Sam rounded on Al. “Go away! Just get the hell out. How could you not tell me?”

“Not tell you what? Sam? What's wrong?”

“I have a wife. But you probably remember that. I didn't. Why didn't you say anything?”

“She didn't want me to.”

“I know that. Why didn't you tell me, anyway?”

“I understood her reasons. I respected them... and her.”

“Don't I deserve a little respect?”

“Of course you do, Sam.”

“But not the truth.”

“Not in this case, no. You wouldn't be able to do some of the things you have to do if you remembered Donna. Come on, Sam, you're a prude even when you don't remember you're married.”

“Maxine,” Beth called from downstairs.

“Oh, geez,” said Al. “Quick, Sam, pull off Barbie's head.”

“What?!”

“Beth's coming up here and she's going to want to know why you've been crying. You can't tell her the truth. Whack the Barbie!”

Sam yanked the Barbie's head off moments before Beth entered the room.

“Maxine? I just wanted to check on you. What's the matter, honey?”

Sam showed her the doll. “Barbie's head came off. Can you fix it?”

“Let me have her.” Beth reattached the doll's head and handed it back to Sam. “I'm going to make some cookies. Would you like to help?”

“No, Mommy, I'm tired.”

Al shook his head in disgust. “No, Sam, don't say that, now she'll want to take your temperature.”

Sam shot Al a look of mild alarm, just as Beth reached over to place a hand on his forehead.

“Do you feel okay, honey? You don't seem hot.” She lifted Sam's shirt and peered at his chest and back.

“I'm fine. Just a little tired. All that walking around.”

“You don't have any spots... maybe it is just the hike. Why don't you rest, and I'll bring you a snack a little later.”

“Okay.” Sam lay down on the bed, but sat up again as soon as Beth had gone.

“Do I have any children, Al, or are you not supposed to tell me that, either?”

“Sam... look, I know this is lousy. And I'm sorry it's lousy, but there isn't anything I can do about it.”

“Get out of here. Go on, get back to your precious Project that's more important than my having a normal life.”

“Sam...” Al began, but the anger and pain in Sam's eyes stopped the words in his throat.

“Be sure to give my love to Donna.” Sam turned away from Al.

“Sam.”

“Go.”

Al sighed, and reluctantly left the Imaging Chamber.

 

Sam drifted into an uneasy sleep. He dreamed about Donna and Project Quantum Leap and his father's farm in Indiana. He dreamed about his brother's death, and then some part of him said, _But Tom didn't die. We changed that; we fixed it. And Donna... she wasn't mine when I first leaped. She stood me up at the altar. But we fixed that, too, Al and I. I have Donna and Tom because I leaped. And I can't be with them because I leaped._

Eventually, he found himself back at Al's Place, drinking a beer.

“I have a question,” said the bartender.

“ _You_ want to ask _me_ something?” Sam said. “Go ahead.”

“I thought you were headed home. What changed your mind?”

“I... had to help someone. You know that. I mean, don't you know what I did?”

“What did you do, Sam?”

“I broke the rules.”

“Whose rules?”

“My rules. His rules.” Sam eyed the bartender warily and added, “Maybe your rules?”

“Do you think your friend will be angry when he finds out?”

“I'm not going to tell him. It's better he doesn't know.”

“Better for whom, Sam?”

“Both of us, I guess. Wait a minute—I never said I broke the rules for a friend.” The bartender gave Sam an enigmatic smile that set off an unpleasant tickling in the pit of his stomach. “You aren't going to... punish me? Are you?”

The bartender laughed. “Me? I serve beer. I leave punishing to other people.”

After he woke, Sam thought about Donna and Beth and Al. _I've been a hypocrite. I'm doing to Al exactly what he's done to me. I'm not telling him something about his marriage because I know he'd be upset._

_I've been horribly unfair to him. All this time, I've gone about my business, happily unaware of my marriage, but Al has known. Every woman I've kissed, or wanted, or actually slept with—Al has known about all of them and thought of Donna. And he's said nothing, because I had a job to do. And because I needed those women, needed someone to love, to love me, and Donna wasn't there._

_Why is it that God, or Time, or Fate puts us in impossible situations where we end up hurting the ones we most want to protect?_

_I've got to apologize to Al..._

Beth interrupted his thoughts. “Time for your bath.”

Sam chuckled to himself. _Al, I'm sorry about the way I acted earlier. And I think you should know I saved your first marriage by convincing Beth you were still alive in Vietnam. Oh, by the way, she just gave me a bath. Hope you don't mind._

Then Sam realized Beth really _was_ about to give him a bath, and panic set in. “No. No, Mommy, I'm not dirty. I don't need a bath.”

Beth pulled him remorselessly in the direction of the bathroom, ignoring his protests.

_What am I going to do? She's turning on the water. Maybe if I make a big enough fuss she'll decide it's not worth the trouble._ “No, I'm not going to take a bath, I don't need a bath, no, no, nooooooooooo!”

An amused, gravelly voice spoke behind him. “I see we're in good voice tonight.”

Sam spun around and saw Admiral Calavicci standing in the doorway.

“Did you expect otherwise?” said Beth, with a mixture of amusement and resignation. She reached for Sam's shirt, trying to remove it, but Sam took a quick step backward, out of reach.

“I don't need a bath,” he repeated.

“So I've heard.” The Admiral turned off the water and then said to Beth, “Your mom's on the phone. I'll take care of Maxine.”

Beth left, and the Admiral closed the door and perched on the edge of the tub, watching Sam expectantly. “Well, go on. You've got my undivided attention. Tell me you're not taking a bath.”

“I'm not taking a bath,” Sam said uncertainly.

“Come on, kid, you can do better than that. Yell.” Sam looked at him in puzzled silence. “Well, if you're through already, we can get down to business.” He turned the water on.

 

“I can wash my own hair.”

“No, honey, I don't want you to get soap in your eyes.”

“What if _you_ get soap in my eyes?”

Admiral Calavicci grinned. “Don't trust the old man, do you?”

“Al?” Beth said, as she stuck her head in the bathroom. Sam dove for a toy to cover himself, while saying “Oh, boy” under his breath.

“Maxine, come back here. Sit still, or you _will_ get soap in your eyes. What is it, Beth?”

“A miracle, I'd say. I thought we weren't going to take a bath.”

“We decided we were a big girl and could bathe ourselves. Did a good job of it, too. I'm just finishing her hair.”

“Donna called and said they won't be over tomorrow.”

“Don't tell me Sam's going to work.”

“No, she says they're going to stay home. Sleep late, that sort of thing.”

Admiral Calvicci smiled. “Well, I've always approved of 'that sort of thing'.”

 

Hours later, the Admiral wasn't smiling. He lay awake, trying to banish disturbing thoughts.

_Item: Maxine is too young to tie her shoelaces. I saw her do it today._

_Item: Maxine is too young to display body modesty. But when Beth came in, she grabbed that duck and used it for a fig leaf. And I think she said “Oh, boy”._

_Conclusion: That isn't my little girl. It's someone else in Maxine's body. Someone who is old enough to tie their shoes. Someone who is old enough to be embarrassed about being seen naked. Correction, being seen naked by a woman, which means that someone is a man._

_Calavicci, you have lost your mind._

He lay there for another twenty minutes. Then he got up and retrieved the Band-Aid he'd taken off Maxine's knee at bath-time.


	3. Chapter 3

Dr. Beckett looked up from his desk to see Admiral Calavicci frowning at him.

"Al. I didn't think you were coming in today."

"Obviously not. I thought you were going to stay home. Or is there a law that says you can't spend Sundays with your wife?"

"Well, I got this new idea about the Imaging Chamber, and..."

"You can tell me in the car."

"The car? Al, you're not dragging me out in the desert again."

"No, I'm not. Come on."

Sam got into Al's car and spent fifteen minutes excitedly outlining his latest inspiration. Then he paid attention to the road instead of Al, and suddenly wondered where they were going.

"Al, this is the road to Albuquerque."

"Sure is."

"We're going to Albuquerque? Why?"

"Donna asked Beth to ask me to take you shopping."

"Shopping? For what?"

"Well, there's this place I've heard of that sells these really interesting G-strings..."

Sam's face reddened with embarrassment. "Al, you're disgusting. Donna never said that."

"She didn't?" Al considered the matter thoughtfully. "She must have. Who else would you wear one of those little things for?"

"Al..."

"I hear they've even got this outfit that's kind of like a Boy Scout uniform..."

"Stop it. You know we're not going shopping. What are you up to?"

"I want you to meet an old friend of mine. His name's Bob. He's a doctor."

"Of what?"

"Medicine."

"Why would I... oh, no you don't, Al. You are _not_ taking me to see a doctor."

"What's wrong with doctors? You're a doctor, Sam."

"That's how I know I don't need to see one. You know I hate being examined."

"Well, yeah..."

"So why are you doing this?"

"I'm worried, Sam. Humor me."

"I will not humor you. You might as well turn around right now, because I'm not going to see this guy."

"Sam..."

"I won't do it, Al. I'm not going to talk about it anymore."

Sam said nothing for the rest of the drive into Albuquerque; he merely sat and scowled at the scenery.

_This is a record,_ thought Al. _I've never known him to sulk over something for more than twenty minutes. I wonder if he's staying mad just to keep from falling asleep; he really looks worn out. Maybe this checkup is a better idea than I thought. Assuming I can get him to go through with it._

Al parked at a professional building and got out. He walked around to Sam's side of the car and opened the door. Sam stared straight ahead, refusing to acknowledge him. Al sighed.

"Look, this guy's seeing you on his day off as a favor."

"It's no favor to me."

"Sam... this is no big deal. You fill the little cup, he takes some blood, listens to your chest, maybe checks your reflexes. It's not the Inquisition."

Sam thought for a minute, then grudgingly got out of the car. He looked down at the briefcase in Al's hand. "What's that for?"

"I thought I'd do some paperwork while Bob's looking at you."

"Do I get a lollipop?" Sam asked sarcastically.

"Only if you're a good boy."

Thirty minutes later, Sam came out to the deserted waiting area where Al was sitting. "Next," he announced, grinning widely.

"Next what?"

"That's right, Al, it's your turn," said Bob.

"Now, wait a minute, we came here for Sam!" Al protested.

"I'm running a two-for-one special today," said Bob.

"It's not the Inquisition," Sam said with a triumphant smirk.

"I'm gonna slug you," said Al, as he passed Sam on his way back to the examining room.

  


Dr. Beckett slept through most of the drive home. Admiral Calavicci's thoughts drifted back to the talk he'd had with Bob during his examination.

"You got the sample from Sam?" Al asked, as Bob drew blood from his arm. "Ow. Don't do this much, do you?"

"Yes, I got the sample from your friend, and no, I usually get a nurse to do this. But I was under the impression you wanted this kept quiet."

"That's an understatement. I want the results tomorrow, Bob."

"I don't think they can work that fast."

"I'll find somebody to chew on to make them work that fast. This is an extremely sensitive situation. Global impact."

"Al..."

"I'm serious. Sorry I can't give you the details."

"I don't want them."

"What's the word on Sam?"

"Confidentiality..." said Bob, in a warning tone.

"Come on, Bob."

Bob hesitated for a moment, then said, "Make him slow down."

"You think I haven't tried?"

"Try harder."

  


The Admiral pulled up in front of Beckett's car. "This is for you," he said, handing Sam a small bag.

Sam eyed the bag as if it might contain a poisonous snake. "What is it?"

"I snuck out for a minute and bought something while you were getting your checkup."

"If this is some sort of sleazy... I don't want it, Al," he said, giving the bag back. "I won't wear it."

"I hope not," said Al, opening the bag. "It's a lollipop."

  


That evening, Al stepped into the Imaging Chamber and paced back and forth next to Sam's bed. _Why wake him up when he's just gonna throw me out again? Oh, well, here goes nothing._

"Sam! Sam, wake up."

"Al? What time is it?"

"Almost three."

"What? Why didn't you wake me earlier?"

"There wouldn't have been any point. My doppelganger picked tonight to have insomnia. He's finally asleep, though. Let's go downstairs."

"Al, wait. I want to apologize for the things I said earlier. I know you've been in a very awkward position..."

"Forget it."

"No, Al, I have to say this..."

"No, you don't," Al said quietly. He and Sam looked at each other without speaking for a long moment, then Al got antsy. "Come on, we haven't got much time. Are the papers still in his filing cabinet?"

"Can you think of a better place to hide them?"

  


Two hours later, Al said, "That should be everything."

"Not quite."

"What's missing, Sam?"

"You tell me."

Al sighed. "Okay, you leap into your future, say the year... 2015, and we ask Ziggy what's going on. She logs a request for the information. Whoever's manning the Project in 2015, assuming there still is a Project in 2015, sees the request. They leap back to 2000 and add their history to Ziggy's database. Bang, we instantaneously get the stuff we need. When the leap ends, Ziggy locks the information away in a secret file. Right?"

"Right, except there are two things we need to take care of. First, every time I leap, we change history."

"So every time we do a future leap, we have to ask for their history, because it might have changed since the last time we used it. That's not a problem."

"No, it's what happens after a leap that could be a problem."

"You mean Ziggy hanging on to those files? She can keep a secret, Sam. The problem's going to be getting her to tell us what's in the files, not getting her to keep quiet about them."

"No, I want Ziggy to archive the different histories; it could make an interesting paper some day."

"Sam..."

"The problem isn't Ziggy, it's you."

"Me?"

"You... Verbena... Gooshie... Tina... anyone on the Project who has to know what's going on with the leap du jour. Ziggy will keep a secret; will you?"

"Sam, we went through this 'Cross my heart and hope to die' crap when we set up the Project the first time."

"I know, but now we've got a lot more people involved. Face it, Al, when I leap into the past, I'm the only one who can really mess things up by using my knowledge of future events. And I can't even do that half the time, because of my Swiss- cheesed memory." Sam pointed upward and added, "And I don't think that's an accident."

"Sam, you can trust us."

"Al, I don't even trust myself. I know that nobody on the Project is going to mess things up just for the hell of it, or for personal gain, but the temptation to change things can be very strong. What if I leaped, and you found out that you were going to lose Beth or one of the girls? Could you really do nothing to stop that?"

"No. I could only stand losing them if something even worse were going to happen if I didn't lose them. I wouldn't want to have that choice, Sam. Or remember that I'd had that choice."

"Exactly. Which is why we're going to need more power for the Project. We'll have to scrounge the money for some cogenerators so we're not always browning out half of New Mexico."

"Wait a minute; you lost me. What does more power have to do with my being tempted to change future history?"

"We're going to leap the whole area around the Control Room."

"What?!"

"I know it sounds crazy..."

"Damned right it sounds crazy. Have you been talking to God again? Or is it just the little guys from Mars?"

"Look, we do a microsecond pinpoint leap. I know how to do that now. So when I leap out, everybody else will leap just a fraction of a second into their future. That should be enough to Swiss-cheese the events of the preceding few days. If you don't remember what you learned about the future, you can't act on it."

"Sam, that's not going to work. You have to be in the Acceleration Chamber to go anywhere."

"You don't need the focus of the Acceleration Chamber to make really tiny leaps if the area around the Acceleration Chamber is properly designed _and_ you have enough power. If we set things up this way, everybody around the Control Room will leap automatically. You won't have to think about it; you won't even notice it. If somebody who needs to be leaped isn't there, Ziggy will know and we can leap that person individually."

"I don't like this, Sam."

"I know, I know; it's invasive. I don't think I'd want people playing games with my memory, either. But it's the best solution we've got right now. Let's put it in the notes and let _them_ decide what to do with it."

"Them?"

"The other Sam and Al, and all the others. We don't have months to discuss all the practical and philosophical ramifications of this; they do. We don't have to give them an absolutely perfect design, Al. All we have to do is plant the suggestion."

  


Three days later, Sam tiptoed into the Admiral's study, found his briefcase, and opened it nervously.

Inside, he saw a folder labeled "Sam". _Oh good, it is here. Al was always taking my preliminary notes home to reread them at night. He used to say they made more sense after a few beers._

Sam took the notes he'd hidden under his shirt and stuffed them behind the papers already in the folder. He started to put the folder back in the briefcase, but changed his mind. He took out the old notes and studied the sketches he'd drawn twelve years earlier.

_Dr. Beckett, if you only knew where all of this is going to take you..._

"Maxine! What are you doing in here?"

Sam dropped the notes and looked up at Admiral Calavicci. "I, uh... just wanted to see what was in Daddy's purse."

  


When Al popped in again, he found Sam sitting on the stairs.

"Sam. Why are you...?"

Sam glared at him. "I'm in Time Out. You didn't tell me his study was off-limits."

"You didn't tell me you were planning on getting caught. Did you get the notes in his briefcase?"

"Yes." A timer went off in the next room. "That's for me." Sam started to rise.

"You sit back down," Al said, pointing an admonishing finger at Sam. "You're gonna tell me what happened on that first leap."

Sam sank back onto the stair for a minute, then realized what he was doing. He rose defiantly and went to Maxine's room.

Al was waiting for him when he got there. "I mean it, Sam, I want to know what you did."

"Why don't you ask Ziggy? She seems to know everything."

"She knows you leaped into 1969." Sam flinched slightly. "So you do remember. What did you do?"

"Nothing, Al."

"Nothing, my ass. Ziggy knows what you did and she's not telling me. What happened?"

"You don't want to know."

"I _do_ want to know," Al insisted. "What did you do?"

"I broke the rules. Okay? I broke the rules."

"How? Why? Sam?"

Sam sat down on the bed and sighed heavily. "I went back and talked to Beth."

"My Beth? You talked to my wife? Why?"

"Because... she thought you were dead, Al. You'd been missing in action for so long, and she hadn't heard anything... so she thought you were dead. And I... I told her you weren't."

"Why didn't you tell her that when I was first shot down? Why'd you pick 1969?"

_How do I tell him this? There isn't an easy way to say it._ "Because... at that time... in 1969... she was about to fall in love with someone else." Sam saw Al's stricken face and quickly added, "She didn't really want him. She wanted you. But she thought you were gone."

"Sam... are you saying you changed history? Are you saying what I think you're saying?"

"When I went back to talk to her, to convince her you were still alive, she was dancing. Alone. To your favorite song. And she was crying. She wanted you, Al. She would have married this other guy if I hadn't told her you were alive, but she wanted _you_."

Al stared blankly ahead, trying to take in the implications of Sam's words. "Beth... divorced me?"

"By the time you came home, it was too late. She'd already remarried."

"And me... what did I do?"

"Al..."

"Tell me, Sam. I need to know. And you might as well get it all out at once. What did I do? Did I remarry?"

Sam looked at Al cautiously and said, "Four times."

"Four times?!"

Sam nodded. "To Theresa, Ruthie, Sharon, and Maxine."

Al grinned in spite of himself. "You're making that part up."

"Honest, it's the truth." Sam sobered suddenly, and said "Al, I'm sorry..."

"For what? Sam... when I was in 'Nam, Beth was the only thing that kept me going. I'd think about little things, like the smell of her hair, or the way she smiles, or that silly little sneeze of hers. Beth's the best thing that ever happened to me. You took away her unhappiness. You saved our marriage. Don't ever be sorry for that."

They sat in companionable silence for some time, then Sam said, "Al, there's something else I haven't told you."

"What?"

"It's about the bartender." Al pointed upward with a questioning look and Sam nodded. "He says I'm the one who's leaping me around."

"That can't be true. How would you know where to go?"

"I think what He meant is that I sort of choose to do this job and He provides the assignments."

"Oh, that's a nice arrangement, Sam. And what if you want to quit?"

"Then I quit. He said... He said I could go home anytime I want to."

"But you haven't."

"I know, Al. I guess that means I don't want to quit. We've done a lot of good for a lot of people."

"Now your Boy Scout circuitry's working overtime again. Doesn't this lousy job come with any vacation time? Why can't you come home between leaps?"

"I don't know. Maybe... maybe I can."


	4. Chapter 4

"No, Maxine, Barbie can't wear that outfit to the party," said Sharon. "This is where she meets Ken for the first time. He's not going to fall in love with her unless she's got on a pretty dress."

"Why not?" said Sam. "Isn't what Barbie _is_ more important than her clothes?"

"You sound like Mommy."

"Well, maybe Mommy's right."

"She doesn't know anything about boys; she's just a Mommy." Sharon looked at Sam as if he were hopelessly ignorant.

Actually, Sam did feel ignorant. This was the third time that Sharon had roped him into playing Barbie with her and Sam was still trying to deduce the rules of the game. As far as he could tell, there were no rules, except that Barbie spent a lot of time changing clothes. He was wondering where Barbie went in all those evening gowns when Al appeared behind Sharon.

"Sam, we gotta talk. It's bad, Sam, really bad."

"I don't want to play anymore," said Sam.

"But we haven't done the party yet," wailed Sharon.

"You do the party without me. I want to play in the sandbox," Sam said, looking up at Al. Al nodded and disappeared.

"At least I know how to play in a sandbox," Sam said. "What's Ziggy got?"

"Two things."

"Both bad?"

"Yeah. First, there's a 71% chance that you—meaning the other Sam, the younger you—will collapse in about three weeks' time."

"What do you mean, 'collapse'? Are you talking mental, physical..."

"A little bit of both, we think. You probably don't remember this phase of the Project, Sam, but you were pushing yourself really hard. Too hard; we had a couple of fights over it."

"I remember; you usually won."

"Yeah, well, Ziggy thinks that the other Sam is going to get so wrapped up with these design changes we've introduced that he won't listen to me this time."

Sam sighed. "What are we going to do? I mean, we can't tell the other Al what's going to happen. Or me."

"Sam, that's not our biggest problem right now."

"It isn't?"

"No. That's something that won't happen for another couple of weeks. Ziggy says Ruthie is going to die tomorrow."

 

* * *

 

"How does Ruthie die, Al?"

"Head injury. That snotty little Michael Pendergast pushes her at recess."

"Michael Pen... that's the boy she had a fight with on Friday."

"Right. Well, some of the other kids tease him about losing to a girl, so he decides to come back for more. He shoves her and she falls down and hits her head and... she dies twenty minutes later."

"Oh, Al... I'll stop it. I promise."

The following morning, Sam crept into Ruthie's room. _If I can keep Ruthie home from school today, her chance of dying drops to 41%._

"Ruthie? Are you awake?"

"Maxine? What is it?"

"I had a bad dream. Can I crawl in with you?"

Ruthie lifted the covers and Sam got into bed next to her.

"I don't want to go to school today, Ruthie."

"You've got to go to school."

"No, I don't. I could tell Mommy I'm sick. You could tell her you're sick, too, and we could stay home and play together."

"Mom's never going to believe you."

"Sure she will. I'll just tell her my stomach hurts." _She'll have to believe me. I have a better chance of saving your life if I'm escaping from home instead of nursery school._

"Oh, Max, you get a stomachache every Monday morning. 'Sides, what would we do? Play Barbies?"

"Or dig in the sandbox," said Sam.

"Or both. We could have a funeral. We could bury Sharon's Barbie," Ruthie giggled.

Sam laughed, too. _Looks like I've been playing dolls with the wrong daughter._

"Ruthie?" said Beth from the doorway. "And Maxine. What are you doing in here? It's time to get up, girls."

"I don't think I can go to school today, Mommy," said Sam. "My stomach feels funny."

Beth walked over to him, caressed his cheek, and smiled. "It must be all that giggling."

_Great timing, Sam._ "Really, Mommy."

"Maxine, I've heard it a hundred times. Go on, get dressed."

 

_Maybe I can warn Ruthie to be careful,_ Sam thought while they were eating breakfast.

"You know that boy you hit?" he said to Ruthie, while Sharon claimed for the third time that someone had hidden her favorite shirt.

"What about him?" said Ruthie.

Theresa said, "Mom, I've got a permission slip for a field trip that you and Dad have to sign today."

"Both of us?" Beth replied. "Where are you going? And why do you always leave these things 'til the last minute?"

"Mom, I've just got to wear that shirt today," Sharon interrupted.

"I think you should stay away from him, Ruthie," Sam said. "He might try to hurt you."

"Sharon, I don't know where your shirt is. If you can't find it yourself, you'll have to wear something else today."

"Mom..."

"That's it. I'm sorry."

"He's not going to hurt me, Maxine", Ruthie scoffed. "I can take care of him."

"Mom, where's Dad?"

"He's making an important phone call, Theresa. Give me the slip and I'll get him to sign it."

"No, really, Ruthie..." Sam began, but she was busy telling Sharon (with great relish and no truthfulness) that a burglar had broken into the house for the express purpose of stealing Sharon's favorite shirt.

"Ruthie," Beth interrupted, "cease and desist. Brush your teeth and get your things. All of you." The girls obediently rose and left, but Sam remained at the table.

"Mommy, I really do feel funny."

"Oh, honey," Beth sighed, pulling a startled Sam onto her lap, "why do you always do this on Monday? Why is it you like school every other day of the week?"

"I don't feel good. Honest. I need to stay home today."

"Well, I could take your temperature, but I think we both know you're not running a fever. You know what your problem really is?"

_Yes, I know, but you don't._ "What?"

"Your problem is that you have a mean mommy." Sam smiled in spite of himself. "No, it's true. See, I had a mean mommy, too, so I know how to do it right. Tell you what, though. The next time we go shopping, we'll get you a new mommy."

"A new mommy?" Sam said incredulously.

"Mmhmm, we'll get you a nice mommy. She'll let you eat ice cream any time you want and stay up all night. And she won't make you take baths or go to school on Mondays. But until then, you're stuck with me, so you'd better go get your shoes."

 

_How am I going to keep my promise to Al?_ Sam thought, as he worked on a painting. _I tried to get Ruthie to play sick, and she wouldn't. I tried to convince Beth I was sick, and that didn't work, either. And Ruthie wouldn't believe that Michael could be a threat._

"My problem is that I'm four years old and nobody listens to me."

"I listen to you." said Al, as he stepped into the Imaging Chamber.

"Al? Get out of here. The room's full of little kids. They can see you."

"I know they can see me. Hi," Al said, waving to a nearby child, "I'm Maxine's daddy."

"Al..."

"Sam, you're four years old. You can talk to invisible people and nobody cares. Haven't these kids already told the teacher you're not Maxine?"

"Yes, but the teacher didn't believe them."

"My point exactly. Oh, Sam, you'll never be an artist," Al said, while eyeing Sam's painting critically.

"I'm not in the mood to be creative. Al, I've got to get out of here. Any ideas on the best way to make a jail break from nursery school?"

"Don't."

"What do you mean, 'don't'?"

"Well, suppose you do manage to escape from here? You've still got to run over to the elementary school, which is two miles from here, and find Ruthie, and save her. All without being stopped by an adult. I don't know if you've noticed, Sam, but a small child running around loose tends to attract attention."

"So maybe I'll get caught. I still have to try."

"No. If you get caught, Beth is gonna watch you like a hawk for the rest of the day. You won't have a chance to get anywhere near Ruthie, so you won't be able to save her."

Sam thought for a moment, then picked up a small container of paint. "They'd probably send me home if I threw up. Would Maxine try to drink paint?"

"Yeah, that does sound like Maxine, but don't drink that stuff, Sam..."

"It's not toxic..."

"Don't, Sam. You don't have to. Principal Nozzle just called Beth and told her he wants to meet with the Calaviccis to discuss Ruthie's 'antisocial behavior'. If you can sit tight for a while, Beth is going to pick you up early and take you to the elementary school. Which is exactly where you want to go."

 

"Al, can I ask you a question?" Dr. Beckett said.

"If it's quick, Sam. I've got to meet Beth for a conference with the school principal. Jackass."

"These notes you gave me yesterday... do you remember if I gave them all to you at the same time?"

"I don't know, let me look at them again." Admiral Calavicci quickly flipped through the first two-thirds of the papers, then stopped suddenly and went back a page or two. _Oh, my God, I've never seen this page before. Is that what he's been up to? And why?_

He realized that Sam was watching him closely. _Sam doesn't remember these, either. Should I say something? Not yet._

He thumbed through the rest of the notes, trying to remain nonchalant. Finally, he handed the papers back to Sam, saying, "Sorry, Sam I really don't remember."

"That's okay, Al. Thanks." He left Al's office.

Al sat down, suddenly feeling ill. _Which do you want to believe, Calavicci? That Sam wrote up a design he no longer remembers, or that someone else did those calculations?_

The phone rang. He reached for it, thinking, _Damn, I'll probably be late as it is._ "Calavicci."

"Al. This is Bob. I don't know how you pulled it off, but I just got the test results. Um, the answer is yes."

"Oh..." Al sighed.

"Is that bad?"

"Could be worse. Thanks, Bob, I owe you one." _Now what do I do?_

 

Beth and Sam sat outside the principal's office, waiting for Admiral Calavicci.

_How am I going to get away from them?_ thought Sam. _Are they going to take me in the principal's office with them, or will they leave me outside with the secretary? It would be a lot easier to slip away from the secretary..._

"I don't know where your father is," said Beth. Sam, who was ostensibly playing with Barbie and Ken, saw an opportunity.

"Daddy doesn't like to talk to nozzles."

"Maxine!" Beth hissed, looking up to see if the secretary had heard Sam. The secretary stared back at her coldly. "Maxine, you mustn't say that, especially not here."

"Why not, he's a ..."

Beth briefly clasped a hand over Sam's mouth. "Don't you dare."

"I'll say it if I want to," Sam said, in as petulant a tone as he could manage. _Does she think I'm winding up for a tantrum? Please, Beth, decide you can't trust me to behave in front of the principal._

Beth looked down at him and said, "I won't have it, Maxine," in a quiet, penetrating voice that made the hairs on the back of Sam's neck stand up.

"Mrs. Calavicci?"

"Mr. Pendergast. My husband seems to be a little late. Perhaps we could start without him."

"I'm a busy man, Mrs. Calavicci. Won't you come in?"

Beth turned to Sam and spoke in a low, firm voice. "I want you to stay right here and play Barbies. Right in this chair, do you understand?"

"Yes, ma'am". _Wonderful._

"You can bring the child in with you if you'd like," said Mr. Pendergast.

Beth smiled at the principal and used the same quiet voice that had frightened Sam. "I don't think Maxine needs to hear what I intend to say."

_Ouch,_ thought Sam. _Life will not be fun when she discovers I've run off on her. Now if I can just manage not to run into "Daddy" on the way out..._ He looked over at the secretary, who was watching him with an air of distrust. He smiled at her and pretended to play with the dolls.

Al suddenly appeared by his side. "Sam, you gotta get out of here, you've only got a few minutes."

"Only a few minutes?" Sam said, moving the Ken doll as if it were speaking. "Where do you want to go, Barbie?"

"Ziggy says straight out the front door is your best bet."

Sam looked at the secretary again; she was talking on the phone and not paying attention to him. He slipped out of his seat and left the office.

So far, so good. No one was pursuing him. He went out the front door and tried to lose himself among the other children at recess. The playground was a large asphalt area on the edge of the parking lot.

"Where is she?" he asked.

"Ziggy... Over there, Sam! See?"

Sam looked where Al was pointing and saw Ruthie playing kickball with a group of girls on the edge of the playground. She was talking to two other girls, and apparently waiting her turn at bat.

"No, Sam, don't run! You don't want to attract attention. I don't see the boy yet; you've got time to walk. Go over there, nice and easy. Home plate's right in front of the sidewalk," said Al, gesturing at the pavement that surrounded the school and rose eight inches above the asphalt.

"That's what she hit her head on," said Sam, quickening his pace.

"Uh-oh, Sam, they're after you." Sam glanced back for a moment and saw the secretary and Beth speaking to one of the teachers monitoring the playground. When he looked ahead and saw Michael walking up to Ruthie, he began to run.

By the time he reached Ruthie, Michael had interrupted the kickball game and was trading insults with her. Sam said, "Ruthie," and she turned to him, but Sam was distracted momentarily by an angry male voice yelling "Maxine!" nearby.

When Sam looked back at Ruthie, she was already falling. He darted behind her, trying to catch her, but was caught off-balance. He fell against the sidewalk, with Ruthie on top of him.

 


	5. Chapter 5

Sam hurt, and he couldn't seem to breathe properly, and there was blood everywhere.

"Sam! Are you all right?" Al walked through the crowd of children gathering around him and knelt on the ground.

"Ruthie. How's Ruthie?"

"She's fine, Sam. How are you?"

"Maxine?" Admiral Calavicci elbowed his way through the crowd. "Oh..." He reached for a loud handkerchief and pressed it firmly against Sam's arm. Sam looked down and realized that all the blood was coming from a cut at his left elbow. "You're going to be okay, honey."

"Sam, are you all right?" Al repeated.

"I'm okay," he answered, as Admiral Calavicci turned to his other daughter.

"Ruthie, are you hurt?"

"No, Daddy," she answered, but she seemed shaken and pale.

"Sit down, Ruthie, before you faint," said Beth as she came up to them. "What is it?" she asked her husband.

"A bad cut. I don't think anything's broken. You look." They traded places. As he straightened, he caught sight of Michael trying to sneak away.

"Oh no, you don't," he said, grabbing the boy's arm. "You're not going anywhere. I saw you push her down."

"That's it! Go get him!" said Al.

Michael squirmed in the Admiral's grasp. "It was an accident."

"No, it wasn't," said Ruthie and Al simultaneously.

Beth glanced up from her inspection of Sam's arm. "Al, she needs stitches.”

"Well you got the 'stitches' part right, try working on the gender next," said Al.

"I'll drive you to the hospital," Admiral Calavicci offered.

"No," Beth said. "I can take care of it. You stay here and settle this."

 

"Sam," Al said, popping into Maxine's bedroom.

"Keep your voice down, Al; I'm supposed to be taking a nap."

"Beth can't hear me."

"No, but it's easier for me to be quiet if you're quiet, too. And the last thing I need right now is another scolding. Why haven't I leaped, Al?"

"What do you mean, why haven't you leaped, you're not finished here. You've still got to save you."

"I know that, but I don't see how I'm going to do that as Maxine. We've already had ample evidence that nobody listens to her."

"So you think you're gonna leap into someone else to finish this one. Who? It can't be you. Well, maybe it could. If we had the younger Sam in the Waiting Room for a couple of weeks, we could get him rested up and I could work on him."

"Al, if the other you can't convince him to take it easy _here_ , why do you think your luck will be any better in the Waiting Room?"

"Well, I know exactly what's at stake. And I'm more experienced. All I really have to do is outstubborn him. And let me tell you, having Maxine as a teenager has taught me... oh, a whole lot about being stubborn."

"That can't be it. He'd learn too much about the Project."

"Yeah, and he'd forget it as soon as he leaped back. Who else would you leap into? It can't be me, because of Maxine."

"What about Donna?"

"Oh, that could be interesting. How would you like to be your own wife? You'd find out what sort of kisser you really are."

"Al, can't you ever think about anything except sex?"

"Yeah, when there's a reason to..." Al punched some buttons on the handlink. "Oh, this won't work, Sam. You can't leap."

"Why not?"

Al gestured at Sam's stitches. "Maxine doesn't have a cut on her arm..."

"No. Oh, no."

"So Ziggy thinks you may have to stay here until that heals."

"I can't. I won't. You don't know what it's like, Al. I'm sick of Barbie and these ridiculous clothes and being asked ten times a day if I need to go potty. I want out of here."

"Sam..." Al began, but Sam deliberately turned his back on him and stared out the window. "I know this hasn't been easy for you, but..."

"He's home."

"What?"

"Your alter ego just pulled into the driveway." Sam stepped back abruptly from the window, looking mildly apprehensive. "He saw me. He's got that look on his face."

"What look? Is he angry?"

Sam shook his head. "It's not your 'I'm really steamed' look, it's that little smile you get on your face... right before you disembowel someone. He thinks I'm Maxine. He doesn't know I saved Ruthie's life, all he knows is that I ran away from Beth. Oh, boy, he's really going to chew me out."

Al stared at Sam in amused surprise. "You're afraid of him. You're afraid of _me_."

"I'm not afraid of him. It's just that you can be very unpleasant to be around when you're angry. You'd better go."

"Why?"

"Because I'd rather not be humiliated in front of an audience. Do you mind?"

"Sam, you've just given me a great idea."

"What? Al... "

Al made a shushing gesture and pointed at the bedroom door. Sam saw the door opening and gave Al a quick, panicky glance.

"I'll be back later. Don't worry, kid, I haven't killed you yet." Al stepped through the Imaging Chamber door and disappeared.

With a sigh of resignation, Sam turned back to face Admiral Calavicci.

 

* * *

 

"You want to _what_? Have you gone crazy?"

"Calm down, 'Bena..."

"Your responsibility as Observer..."

"Is to maintain communication with Dr. Beckett and provide assistance as necessary. And that's all I intend to do. I want to talk to the younger Sam and convince him not to work so hard. That's helping him, isn't it?"

"It's also your duty not to break the Project rules. You do remember the rules? Like the one about not revealing future events?"

"Verbena, I won't tell him I'm from the future. I'm just going to go in there and read him the riot act."

"And what if you walk through a wall? What if he tries to touch you?"

Al began to wish he hadn't told Dr. Beeks his plans. She had a nasty habit of pointing out things he didn't want to think about. Luckily, this was one problem he had thought about. "I'm not going to walk through anything. And if touches me... well, maybe he'll think I'm a ghost..."

"Like hell he will! He'll know the Project worked."

"So he'll know it worked." _Come on, Beeks, take the bait._

"And he'll know you're there for a reason."

_Yes!_ "Which will give him one hell of a good scare, and that's what I'm trying to do in the first place. Ziggy says my odds of succeeding are 64% even if Sam does find out I'm from the future." _Gotcha._

Dr. Beeks thought for a moment. "And what are the odds if he doesn't find out?"

_Damn._ "87%." Dr. Beeks opened her mouth to protest, but Al cut her off. "I'll be careful, 'Bena. Promise."

As Al walked down the corridor to Sam's office, he thought _I don't like visiting my own past. Everything seems so... different, and so vivid. It's just too damned spooky._

He paused at Sam's door, unseen, and studied the younger Dr. Beckett for a moment. _God, he looks like hell. Did he sleep last night?_

"Dr. Beckett, I presume." Sam started guiltily. _What now? I came here to bawl him out and I don't know where to start. Maybe the silent stare. I don't think he likes that._ Al concentrated a steady, flat gaze on Sam that seemed both cynical and expectant. _Ah, yes. I do detect a squirm._

"Al. Um, I thought you'd gone home for the day. Why are you wearing your uniform?"

_Because your brain hasn't been Swiss-cheesed yet and you probably have all of my clothes memorized. And God help us if I've forgotten to take off any decorations I haven't gotten yet._

"Because this is an official scolding. Well, as official as I can get without bringing Washington into it." _What was it the other Sam said about a little smile?_ Al planted himself squarely in front of Sam's desk and tried to look as if he were relishing the task that lay ahead.

"Look, I know I promised to go home early, but these design alterations..."

"Are unimportant. You're doing too much, Sam. You look like you haven't slept in a week."

"Give it a rest, Al. I don't need to be lectured. Give me some credit for knowing my limits."

"You don't know your limits, Sam; that's the problem. You act like you haven't _got_ any limits."

"That's not true."

"You've got so much energy, so much curiosity and intelligence, but you don't know when to quit. You're just like Maxine..."

"I am not a child," Sam said angrily. "And I'm sure as hell not _your_ child, so just back off."

"I'm not trying to belittle you, Sam. The point I'm trying to make is that little kids like Maxine use all of their energy, every last bit. They'll go until they fall over if you don't make them stop. And you're the same way. But if you fall over, I'm going to have something on my hands that's a little more serious than a temper tantrum or a crying jag at the end of the day."

"I'm not going to have a nervous breakdown."

"I didn't say you were. But you're going to collapse from physical exhaustion if you don't slow down. You're so tired, I'm not sure you know what you're doing anymore." Al pointed at the sheaf of notes Sam had been reading, the same notes he'd worked on with the older Sam. "Do you understand that stuff? Do you even remember writing it in the first place?"

Sam swallowed convulsively and said, "Of course I do."

"No, Sam, you don't." Al's voice was gentle, but insistent. _Forgive me for this deception._

They stared at each other, silently arguing the point. After a long moment, Sam's eyes dropped. "No, I don't. This... these calculations are in my own handwriting and it's like I've never seen them before. I have a photographic memory, Al. I'm not supposed to forget things I've read." Sam turned away from Al, clearly shaken.

"Hey... Sam... you're just tired, kid." Sam turned back to glare at him. Al saw the tears standing in his eyes, and took an instinctive step toward him before stopping himself. "Go home. Rest. Spend some time with Donna."

"But the Project..."

"Will still be here when you get back."

"Will it? We told the committee we'd have..."

"I know what we've promised. It'll happen Sam, you've got to trust me. It'll all happen. But only if you take care of yourself. Now I want you to leave all of that stuff here and not think about it for a couple of days."

Sam looked at the notes indecisively. Al frowned at him and sharpened his tone. "Sam. Leave the papers. Go home. Now. That's an order. And none of this sneaking back in the middle of the night crap, either."

"Yes, Master."

"Good boy."

Sam collected the papers and locked them in his desk while Al looked on with satisfaction. "Do you want the key?"

Al shook his head and left Sam's office.

"Oh, so you do trust me," Sam called after him. He locked his office and looked down the empty corridor. "Al?"

 

Sam sat down on Maxine's bed as Admiral Calavicci closed the door behind him. _This is ridiculous,_ Sam thought. _It's only Al; he isn't really going to hurt me. I've been in dozens of situations a lot worse than this. So why is my stomach turning over and over? He doesn't even look angry._

_Maybe it's because he doesn't look angry. I know better than to trust that carefully blank expression. Whatever he's thinking, I'm not going to like it. Come on, Al. Say something. Do something. Get it over with._

The Admiral sat down next to Sam and looked at him silently for another interminable minute. Then he sighed and said, almost sympathetically, "What am I going to do with you?"

 _Nothing, I hope._ "I'm sorry, Daddy. I know I should have stayed in the chair like Mommy said."

The Admiral frowned slightly, giving Sam the feeling that he'd somehow said the wrong thing. _I only admitted I disobeyed Beth. He already knew that. What was I supposed to do, deny it?_

"I got an interesting phone call today, right before I went to Ruthie's school. It was from a doctor in Albuquerque."

"Are you sick?" _Why is he telling me this?_

"No. I took your Uncle Sam to see him yesterday. I asked the doctor to take a blood sample from Sam and run a DNA comparison with a Band-Aid I took off your knee. The samples matched."

 _Oh, boy. What do I say?_ "I don't understand, Daddy."

"Sam." The Admiral's voice was gently chiding. "I know. Don't lie to me."

_Help._

"It worked, Sam. The Project worked. I can hardly believe it."

"How'd you find out, Al? When did you find out?"

"Saturday afternoon. You tied one of your shoes."

"I did?"

"Yes, and that was the problem; you did it without thinking. Maxine can't tie her shoes yet, and even if she could, she'd have to really concentrate. Let me tell you, Sam, you scared the hell out of me when you did that. And then Saturday night, when you grabbed that rubber duck, I knew... I knew it wasn't Maxine, and I started thinking it might be you. And it was. Why are you here?"

Uh... "I cut a deal with Maxine. I take her baths and she lets me have her allowance."

"I thought it had something to do with Ruthie. Surely you didn't go out on the playground for no reason."

"No, I didn't. Ruthie... would have hit her head on the pavement if I hadn't been there." _Oh, my God, I must be responsible for that. Al was late getting to the school because he knew I wasn't Maxine. If he'd gotten there just a few minutes earlier, he would have seen Michael talking to Ruthie and saved her himself._

"So you saved Ruthie's life."

"Yes."

"And while you happened to be in the neighborhood, you decided to change the design for the Project."

_Oh, boy, now we're really screwed. How do I get around this one?_

"Sam, I can see you trying to think up a lie. Don't bother. You put those notes in my briefcase yesterday, didn't you?"

Sam hesitated before admitting, "Yes. Does he know?"

"Not yet. And I'm not sure I'm going to tell him. If he found out the Project had actually worked, he'd go all out to get it on-line as soon as possible. And he's doing too damned much already."

 _This could be your big chance, Sam. Don't blow it_. "I remember. The only time I ever went home to sleep was when you made me do it. Sometimes I think... maybe you should have kept me on a shorter leash."

"You do?" Sam shrugged, then nodded. The Admiral eyed him closely and said, "It's important, isn't it?" Sam reluctantly nodded again.

Admiral Calavicci thought about what sort of trouble Sam might be hinting at. "I'm not supposed to ask, am I?"

"No. You're not even supposed to know I'm here."

The Admiral thought for another minute, then nodded briskly. "Right. You're supposed to be taking a nap."

"Al! I didn't mean _I_ need more rest. I was talking about _him_."

"And when did you write up those calculations?"

"Friday night. And Saturday night."

"When you should have been sleeping. Go on, lie down." Sam resisted mildly, then allowed himself to be tucked in.

"Al, this isn't necessary..."

"Quiet, Sam. You take your nap like a good little quantum physicist, and I'll try to sneak you a beer after supper." Sam grinned, until the Admiral added, "It'll give us a chance to talk about how and why you've broken half the rules you made about leaping."

 

As he slept, Sam recovered one last memory of his visit to Al's Place.

"Why me?" he asked the bartender.

"Why not you?"

"Well, I have all this education—a Nobel Prize in physics, even. Some people would say I should still be doing physics, that it's a waste for me to... be the clean-up crew."

The bartender gave him a challenging look. "And what do you think?"

"I don't know."

"I think you've been enjoying yourself, and don't want to admit it."

"Enjoying myself?” Sam protested. "I never get to relax. I never know who I am or what I'm supposed to be doing. And I end up in the most humiliating situations."

"Don't you think somebody with a Nobel Prize in physics is big enough to handle a little humiliation now and then?"

"That's not the point."

"Then tell me this, Sam. When you were a kid, what did you want to be when you grew up?"

"I don't know... a farmer, like Dad. A basketball player, like Tom. A lot of things, I guess."

"Most kids want to be a lot of different things. But their choices are limited by their abilities. That wasn't a problem for you. You've got all those degrees. So why are you a physicist?"

"I had to choose something... one thing. I wanted to do everything. But there wasn't enough time."

"There is now."

 

"Sam! Sam, wake up."

"Al? Al, he knows."

"Who knows what?"

"Calavicci knows I'm not Maxine. He saw me tie my shoes."

"Aw, Sam, why'd you do a dumb thing like that?"

"I didn't do it on purpose, Al. But I think it's going to be okay; I sort of hinted that he needs to make the other Sam take it easy. Why don't you ask Ziggy to check the odds?"

Al consulted the handlink. "You're not going to collapse anymore, but I thought that was because I fixed it."

"You fixed it? How?"

"Well, I had a little talk with Dr. Beckett."

"You _what_? Al, are you cra... Al, there's blood on your clothes."

"I know. That's what I came here to tell you. Maxine fell and cut herself. The little monkey talked Gooshie into letting..."

"On the arm? Does she have a cut like mine?"

"Yeah. Which means..."

"Al, I'm gonna leap."

"Come home, Sam. Promise me you'll come home."

"I pro..." Sam said, before vanishing in a flash of blue light.

 

Al was pacing back and forth in the Waiting Room when Dr. Beeks found him.

"It's been three days, Al. Go home. We'll call you as soon as he leaps."

"I want to be here when he arrives. He said he'd come home. He promised."

Dr. Beeks voiced the question he'd been silently torturing himself with. "But did he say when?"


End file.
